


The Steel Ring

by Tyranno



Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: ...its a metaphor, Character Study, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 23:15:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11114940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyranno/pseuds/Tyranno
Summary: Steve got it as a present at the leaving party for his transfer from the air force. It was a ring, because they’d always joked about him being married to his job.





	The Steel Ring

Steve got it as a present at the leaving party for his transfer from the air force. It was a ring, because they’d always joked about him being married to his job. 

The ring was cheap, scrap metal, made by one of the cadet’s brother, but it meant a lot to him. The party had been little more than a few beers at the local pub, but the feeling in the air was warmer and more pleasant than any posh military do he’d attended with a stiff suit and a metric tonne of gel in his hair. 

At first, the ring reminded him of his father, who still wore his wedding ring even ten years after his wife’s death. It was the only memento he had of her—the only one necessary, he’d say—save a glossy photograph above the mantel place. Steve had asked him about it, about why he never moved on, during one of his rare days of leave, and his father hadn’t even considered it for a moment. “There’s no moving on from a Goddess,” He had scoffed. 

The ring was the only thing Steve was allowed to keep with him when he went undercover. The secret service allowed him one item, provided it was unremarkable, of indistinct origin, and he could work it into his backstory if needed. 

The others in his new squad asked about it, and he spoiled them with stories. He based his fake wife on the baker’s daughter he had fancied growing up, forever smelling of fresh bread and with a smile bright enough to see in the dark. Hilda or Ada or Eva would have corn-yellow hair and a plump, round body. She would be kind and calm and warm, with wit and charm enough to keep the whole squad smiling through the long, hungry nights when the food truck had been bombed on-route again. 

At night, Steve would dream of Adela or Elsie or Gretchen, slipping the ring on and off his fingers. He imagined his never-wife, baking pastries and sewing curtains, bringing the laundry in on rainy days. The common idea of a Good German Wife appealed to him only as far as a home-cooked meal and a lifetime of peace, although he longed for those things. She felt flat and dull to him, but he couldn’t keep his mind off the idea. A woman to have and to hold—forever. What an appealing idea. 

Command won’t let him wear jewellery on his fingers so Steve takes to wearing his ring like his late mother had—around his neck on a thin silver band. It jangles against his metal zip and cracks against his helmet, but the reassuring chill of it against his neck is something other that the heavy dog tags to think about. 

And then he’s crashing into the ocean, ring bouncing against his jaw, water rising around him like cold teeth.

And then he’s saved. 

Diana picks up the ring in the bath room, and inspects it in the low blue light. Her expression doesn’t change—she looks at it with that same sharp, intense look she gives all of his personal belongings. She doesn’t ask him about it. Part of him wished she would. 

The ring stays in his pocket. He transfers it to his new jacket pocket, where he can’t even feel it through the thick canvas. 

Steve doesn’t think about it again until he’s drifting off to sleep when he hears Charlie clear his throat. 

“You know he’s not really married, right?” Charlie asks, voice thick. He’s trying to keep himself awake and resorted to talking—he must feel pretty rough. 

“What?” Diana asked. 

“That ring ’e’s always got,” Charlie takes a swig, “No girl would wait forever. It’s fake.” 

“Why does he have it then?” Diana asked. 

“Fuck knows,” Charlie growled. “He should’a thrown it away.” 

Steve doesn’t know either. 

He doesn’t throw it away. 

At some point, the woman of his daydreams morphed into something tall and lean, with fierce eyes and wild hair. He vaugely remembers the girls of his dreams, he remembers the girl in the bakery with freckles and bright teeth. He remembers how short she was, how quiet. He remembers the girls of his dreams, with their plump, rounded figures and inoffensive dispositions. In comparison they seem… uninspired. 

Diana dances with him. He is held in her arms. Her skin is tough, but warm and smooth. It’s so much more real than the clay she promised it had been. He feels fine hair under the calloused pads of his thumb. He presses a kiss to her soft lips. 

It all happens at once. 

It’s loud. The god of war is tearing the earth apart, cement howling and metal screeching like a pack of wounded animals. His heart screams with them, blood thundering through his ears. 

Steve’s making a hundred decisions all at once, in one moment. Some of them he had already made a long time ago. 

He catches Diana’s arms, tears brimming in his eyes. He looks at her, reverently. 

Steve pressed the cheap ring, dented and fractured with age, into the palm of her hand.

“I wish we had more time,” He said, voice thick. 

The ring is like a cold kiss in her hand. Her fingers close around it, around his.


End file.
